


Familiar Faces watch you, but with a Perfect Stranger’s Eyes

by DiveIn_HeadFirst_CantLose



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Blood and Violence, Childhood Friends, Delusions, Kenny is an assassin, Kind of graphic from the get go, Kota’s the rich heir of a crooked business man, M/M, Mafia/Yakuza AU, Nobody Here Is A Good Person, Pride doesn’t even sound like a real word anymore, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, The letter in Chapter 5 is filled with bible verses or adapted verses, and Gasoline, google thinks I’m a serial killer, i did a lot of research on hiding bodies and stuff, i don’t know how to tag, i wrote this while listening to Green Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29639319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiveIn_HeadFirst_CantLose/pseuds/DiveIn_HeadFirst_CantLose
Summary: Two lives, two histories, two discoveries.One finds the light in the dark, the other the dark in the light.Most importantly they find each other
Relationships: Ibushi Kota/Kenny Omega
Comments: 19
Kudos: 19





	1. You Lit a Match, Now watch it Burn

A voice rings out through the abandoned building. It's desperate and afraid, the beginning of a plea. 

"I just need three more days, I'll get the money!" 

The captive is middle aged, hair just beginning to grey. He looks like a businessman, or maybe some kind of government official. The Cleaner would guess he's a businessman. Politicians are usually much more convincing in their begging. They've no shame.

His drab grey suit is battered, and the man's face is bruised. Blood is trickling from his lips, and several teeth are missing. His captor can't risk the dental records being traced if the bones are ever located. 

Blood had spattered onto the wall while the Cleaner was restructuring the man's face. It's already drying.

"Shut up. I've got a job to do, and I'd suggest you make it a little easier for yourself." The man in the leather jacket growls, as he walks over and kneels by his supplies. A matchbox, a portable tank of gasoline, a pair of bloody pliers and a revolver. 

His sunglasses glint in the fading light.

The man struggles. His hands are tied firmly to the arms of the wooden chair, placed in the middle of a blue tarp. To catch the blood from the initial beating, he supposed. It wasn't very effective. The more he struggles, the more the rope burns the braided coils give him. They're are thick enough to be rough and abrasive on his skin, but thin enough to form intricate and elaborate knots. 

The lines are wound around his waist and feet too. The Cleaner can't have his captive escaping him. That would be dreadful for his reputation, after all. 

"Let me go, please!" 

He has a file of information on the businessman, knows he has a family. A wife, twin daughters. He should have thought about that before he borrowed money from a loan shark. 

At the man's plea, he fires a single warning shot with his revolver, millimetres from his captives head. He hadn't intended to be that close at all. It made him look far better than he was. He didn't even look, just trusted in his aim as he took the shot. If he was looking he could have done it on purpose, but that is far beside his point. Muscle memory is a funny thing.

"I won't tell you again. Shut up." The heels of his boot click loudly on the concrete, and he punctuates his words by using a handkerchief as a makeshift gag to silence his captive. "Or this will get very, very, messy." 

He smirks as the businessman quivers, and pulls on some nitrile gloves. Cheap and easily replaced. Not at all suspicious, and readily available. They call him the Cleaner for a reason, and that's because he leaves no evidence behind. He's a ghost, but a whisper among a crowd. 

He drags the chair into another room, into the centre. Then, he kneels to unscrew the cap on the gasoline, before picking it up, splashing it onto the man, who cries out in shock and panic. 

Kenny can't risk striking a match with traces of gasoline on his hands, so he peels off the blue gloves. They're not quite as iconic as his signature black leather ones, but they were practical. He tosses them at the foot of the chair. 

"Now." He laughs darkly, striking the match. "I wonder if which will be the one to kill you... the fumes or the flames." 

He flicks the match into the gasoline and leaves, locking the door behind him. He already knows it'll be the fumes, this isn't the first time he's used this method. 

The harrowing screams were muffled by the door and the gag. In about a minute, shock will leave him unconscious anyway and smoke inhalation will do the rest. 

The fire will take care of the flesh, and the flames are far enough from the walls and ceiling to be certain it won't spread. Within a couple hours, the body will be nothing but ash and bone. He's got plenty of time to deal with the mess he'd made.

He sighs. Blood everywhere. He should have put some sheets up or something, then he could have just set them alight along with the rest and let the flames do their work. 

Unfortunately for him, he'd brushed a little too close to fucking it all up, and he'd been in a rush to get this over and done with. He'd only put down a tarp, and it hadn't really done much either way, but it was contaminated and had been chucked into the flames along with the gloves

So, here he is, scrubbing the walls and floors with bleach. Yet again, they don't call him the Cleaner for nothing. He can't have anything show up with luminol and a blacklight.

Luminol is a chemical with a very special property. Put simply, when mixed with an appropriate oxidant, Luminol makes trace amounts of blood glow under a blacklight, even if it has been cleaned away. Unless, you use strong bleach. 

He knows all this, has for years. He's not an amateur. He can almost rattle off the definition from memory.

A solution such as hydroxide ions in water could be used as the oxidant, and a catalyst causes a the chemiluminescence to be activated. In this case, the iron in haemoglobin. It's all very interesting stuff, in his opinion. And chemiluminescence is a very fun word.

It's a shame he has to clean up. After all, the spray and splatters do make such interesting patterns on the walls. Not pretty enough to justify life in prison, or any investigations of any kind, but interesting nonetheless.

This room is spotless, no traces of anything. 

He knows the flames have probably eaten through the man's corpse by now, and he picks up his dustpan and brush. He knows all the steps are ridiculous, he could have snapped the man's neck and buried the body and gotten away with it, no problem. 

He's always had a flair for the dramatic, and he likes the process. It's ritualistic, almost soothing. 

He sweeps up the ashes and bone fragments into a bag. If all goes well this will never be a crime scene, and as much as the Cleaner loves chance, it's never really been his thing to risk everything on a little mistake. 

There's some traces of ash, but it could easily be passed off as dust. There's no organic material left to trace back to anything. 

The cleaner smiles, and tosses the bag in a public bin. He calls his employer to inform him of his work.

"The job is done, Don." He grins. "Any new assignments?"


	2. You’re gonna go far, Kid

Kota Ibushi was the perfect son.

At least, he tried his hardest to be. He'd never really failed before, and his parents felt nothing but pride and adoration toward him. Sure, he had worked hard to keep it that way, but everything came naturally to him. He was just... good at things. Sports, art, even his people skills were pretty good. He was quiet, but he listened well.

He knew that one day, he would inherit the family business. He'd known since he was a young boy, had dreamed of the day when he would have that unimaginable power. He didn't expect that day to be his 25th birthday, but his father sprung it upon him. A birthday present, he had said.

He had offered, when he was about 18, to help out. To learn the trade, to be just like his father. Sure, he's been studying business, but he wants to learn more. He'd been eager and wide-eyed and oh so stupid.

His father gave him just a peek into this world, a world of deals and trades. His world view has always been a little odd, a bit questionable. Sometimes he has thoughts that make him do little double takes. Sometimes they don't even seem wrong then, even if he knows that they are.

He regrets everything he said that day. 

"Son... Are you sure you're ready?"

Use a thief to catch a thief, trap a liar with a lie. It's what his father had always said. There are lines that must be crossed, you can justify the means in the service of an end...

The things that his father had always told him all make sense now, and he doesn't like it. 

He swallows thickly, finally finding his voice and putting it to use. "Father, you know that I feel as you do for these lessons I learned at your knee, and I think maybe by working with you, helping you could be helpful for me."

If he had known back then, years ago, what all this would entail... he certainly would have been far less enthusiastic. Either way, he fell right down the rabbit hole, head first into this new world.

Bribery. Manipulation. A single phone call and a surprisingly small amount of money, and whoever he wanted would wind up dead by week's end. The phone is like a loaded gun, he only has to aim.

He hates it. He hates it more than anything, hates the sweet rush of adrenaline, the delectable feeling of power. He hates it all. 

He spends his days in a daydream, a life where he could be normal, rather than a rich heir to a vast fortune. He only really tunes back in to listen to his father's advice or to work. He knows what this all means to them, so he does everything he can to show them that they are right to believe in.

Here he was, now officially the CEO of a massive corporation. They call him the golden boy, or was it the golden star? Something like that. It's all a front, but that's not the point. His father will guide him at first, maybe for a year or two, just until he gets the hang of how things work. 

It all feels wrong. He smiles artificially when meeting officials, bows, shakes hands, makes deals with those devils. All he ever hears from his father is that he is destined for this, for greatness. 

He strives to achieve it, to become the great man his father sees in him. He takes to the work like a duck to water, adapting quickly and succinctly. He can't help but wonder if this is all there is for him. He feels... empty. Like something is missing.

He's expanded the company, made personnel changes, and his father congratulates every decision. It always feels wrong, but who is he to resist fate? Who is he to run from the call of destiny?

He works tirelessly, gaining more contacts, making grabs at power, taking out who he sees fit to earn his spot. He learns to defend himself, he learns how to shoot, he learns how to kill.

He prays he'll never need the skills.

His parents are delighted at how well he's taken to it. Somewhere down the road, the line had blurred between himself and the illusion he created.

He leans back against the wall, breathing heavy. Another training session well spent. His limbs feel heavy and strange, and sweat plasters his fringe to his forehead. 

Destiny.

Fate.

Such pretty words. Such pretty words that had bestowed him with such power. Power no mortal could imagine-

The sound of the door breaks the silence, bringing him out of whatever delusion he's been having. 

"We've got quite the situation." His father says.

Kota finds the strength to get up, cross the short difference between them, to climb the stairs to his father's study. 

"One of the officials who was handling our false documents has come up missing."

"Have they found anything on him? For this to go through, we need him." 

"No body, no evidence. Not a single hair. Nothing."

"Where have they searched?" 

"They've swept half the city and they've come up dry. They think they know where the murder took place, based on circumstances- but it's just like that banker we used to work with. Scrubbed clean."

"The Cleaner? Again?"

"I fear so. What are you going to do about it?"

Kota gets that far off look in his eyes again. "You always said, use a thief to catch a thief, and trap a liar with a lie. He's a hitman. So... I'm going to send one of his own after him."

"You've come a long way, son." His father praises

"He'll get what he deserves for meddling in business that isn't his." Kota smiles cruelly, but he's actually kind of terrified. What is he becoming? What was that delusion? Who is he really?

He doesn't know, and it frightens him.

"It's time to fight fire with fire, then we'll just step back, and watch the light show."


	3. Lost Souls and Bottle Rockets

Kota leans back in the chair in his father's study, deep in thought. Mulling over his options.

He knows he'll have to play dirty for his plan to work. Even with all the influence, power and money that he has, the Cleaner is good at what he does, good enough that there's no way Kota can outwit him in a straight up brawl.

He needs to pick out someone the Cleaner trusts, needs it to be a big enough shock to totally throw him off course. 

There's only about 3 people he knows of that meet that requirement, and he knows he's not going to find any others. He can't risk picking wrong. If their loyalty is strong enough, he could unwittingly alert Kenny to his plans, and then it'll be his head on a platter.

He rules out Matt immediately. The Cleaner's closest confidant would be the shock he needs, but he knows the loyalty runs far too deep. This situation is too precarious to rely on chance. By association, that rules out Nick too. 

He smiles, looking through the file of the third and final option. He immediately realises one thing.

Don Callis is the perfect choice.

He has an odd role in all this. From the limited information that he does have, he seems to be some kind of handler. Dealing with connections, some of the semantics you just don't have time for when you've as much work to do as the Cleaner.

Despite his extremely close connection to the man, Don doesn't seem all that loyal to him. It seems to be all for his own gain, which makes him the perfect candidate for Kota's plan. There's reasonable certainty that he'll agree to betray the Cleaner. 

In a situation as precarious as this, reasonable certainly will have to be enough. 

He reminds himself that he doesn't like this. He gets no pleasure out of it, it's just business. 

The distinct feeling of thrill thrumming under his skin, the way his heart begins to race, it all tells a difference story. He's a victim of his symptoms, he doesn't know whether to laugh maniacally like some cliché anime villain, or to cry and mourn his old self.

Secrets and lies surround him, questions pirouetting around his head. The lines between right and wrong bleed together like ink blots, and he silently curses his father for leading him down this dark and evil road. The truth is too hard to sort out, all of the data has been analysed and yet there's something he can't see. 

He clenches his fist. He's smart enough, so it appears, to win this stupid game, he's ready to get rid of anyone that stands in his way.

Unimaginable power lays at his fingertips. He's destined for this, it's written in the stars. It's inescapable. 

He makes a phone call.

—

Kenny Omega finally has some free time. Like any self-respecting adult, he heads straight to an arcade. He stands out quite a bit in his beaten leather jacket and aviators, so he shoves them in his backpack. 

There appeared to be a birthday party going on, judging by all the streamers and balloons. He smiled at the kids, running around. One is wearing an oversized badge, declaring her age. 

His hands are in his pockets as he wanders the rows of machines. The kids give him a few odd looks, but nothing more. He does seem to be the only other adult actually interested in the games. All the parents are sat at the tables by the bowling alley. 

He slipped a coin into the street fighter machine, playing a couple rounds. He was intently focused, so much so that he didn't see the kid beside him until she spoke.

"Can I play with you too? Can you teach me?" A little girl, no older than five, blurted out. She was wearing a bright pink tutu, her hair pulled into pigtails. He spots the large birthday badge pinned to her shirt. 

Kenny blinks down at her, more than a little startled. He's so used to being nothing more than a fly on the wall that he's stunned into silence, almost frightened, by someone actually addressing him. An annoying little part of his brain reminds him that he's the most feared man in Japan, and he's getting flighty around a child. That's just ridiculous. 

He smiles kindly, even laughing softly before replying in perfect Japanese. "I don't think your parents would appreciate that, kid." 

"I'm sure they'll get over it." She retorts dismissively 

Kenny tries not to show how surprised he is at the girl's boldness, but he nods softly. She picks Chun-Li, and he smiles. He goes random, he doesn't mind who he plays as. 

He teaches her the buttons, all the tips and tricks, being painstakingly patient. They play for some time, and she's really getting the hang of it, so he leaves her to play against the AI.

He tries a few other games, not really finding one he likes, until he spots the DDR machine. He scrolls through the list of songs, picking an easy one to start off. 

Hours of playing had made him light on his feet and fast, hitting his marks precisely. He often jokes to Matt that that's the secret to his success. 

Before he knows it, some 8-year-old is challenging him to a game. Obviously, Kenny absolutely kicks his ass, but he's a gracious winner, and gives the boy a coin for his next game. 

It was fun, being able to spend time with normal people. He wasn't the Cleaner, he wasn't a killer, not here. He was just the nice guy who taught a kid how to play street fighter. He was just the guy who clearly played way too much DDR. 

He picks up his rucksack and wanders the lines of arcade cabinets. He's looking to see if they have a pac-man machine, when his phone rings.

"We have a situation." Don announces. "Come home, and don't take any detours."

He sighs. And so, the illusion is broken. He's the Cleaner once more.


	4. You took a train and you can’t turn back

Kenny walked home, holding onto the straps of his backpack as he went. He knows that whatever Don called him for, it's important. He's wondering what it could be, as he walks through the city streets. As instructed, he doesn't take any detours and arrives on time. 

He unlocks the door, the creaking sound echoing through the mostly-empty halls as it swings open, announcing his presence. He hangs up his bag on the coat rack, but makes sure to look out of the corner of his eye. He knows something isn't right. 

The house seems to be dead silent except for the loud creak of the door. There's nobody in sight, and a menacing energy in the air, and that seems to be confirming his suspicions. 

He keeps his knees slightly bent, his footfalls silent. He walks down the hall, searching for Don, when he hears a voice from behind him.

"You know, there's a hit out on you." Don said. His tone is cordial, as casual as always. It's Don. For all his worrying, he's usually pretty upbeat.

Kenny knows he's a wanted man. It's not implausible that there's a hit out on him. In fact, it actually feels a little odd that Don is informing. He's always got a bounty on his head. It's certainly bold, to put out a hit on the top assassin, but it's not like it's never been done before. In fact, it's been done to death.

"I can handle myself, Don." He says softly. He even smiled a bit. Don always worries too much, even if he never actually shows it. "You need to stop worrying about me. It won't do you any good." 

"Oh, Kid." The man laughs, and he hears the gun cocking. "You misunderstand."

Fuck. 

That's the only thought his brain can produce at first. Then he remembers he's being held at gunpoint. His blood runs cold, and he visibly freezes up, stealing a glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, Don is aiming for his head. One of three people in the world that he trusted enough to be himself around, and what did he get for his troubles? A knife in his back.

Well, more likely a bullet to the back of the head, but Kenny couldn't care less about the difference right now.

Kenny lets out a frustrated sigh, pushing down all the fury and heartbreak. This is Don. He's known Kenny since he was a child, he had trusted Don with everything.

He sighs. Clearly, that had been a mistake. He raises both his hands, and turns around. 

"I trusted you." His voice is bitter. "I fucking trusted you." 

Don only laughs at him. Anyone could have seen this coming, this was never going to end well for Kenny. Trust had blinded him to Don's scheming, and he silently curses himself for his naivety. 

"Then you're even more stupid than I gave you credit for." Don's smile is downright evil. 

Kenny shakes his head with a laugh of his own. It's filled with a gentle kind of melancholy. "You forget one thing, Don."

"And what's that?"

"Now, I have nothing to lose." He announces, a swift kick knocking the gun from his hand, sending it spinning across the wooden floor of the apartment. 

Don was the one who taught him everything he knows. It's not going to be easy to beat him in a fight.

There's no finesse in his strikes. The poise and grace that is usually in his every movement is uncomfortably absent. He lets the betrayal fuel him, all those ugly emotions becoming the power behind his punches. Every hit is perfectly on target, and even through Don blocks most of them, the ones that land do their work.

The combination of his youth, pain, and combat experience pay off. Don is knocked to the floor. Kenny lunges for the discarded pistol. He aims at Don.

"Tell me who sent you." 

"I'll never-"

"TELL ME!" He shrieks, tears beginning to stream down his face. It's only just hit him what Don has done. Something that looks like sympathy crossed the man's face, and he take a breath.

"Ibushi." He sputters out. "Kota Ibushi."

He knows who Ibushi is, of course. Kota's father had hired him on numerous occasions, and he talked of his son a lot. Both Kota and Don don't even know it, but Kenny and Kota have met. The other probably doesn't remember, and it was so long ago now that it had never really come up in conversation with Don.

He pulls the trigger with his eyes squeezed shut. The weight of the betrayal is almost overwhelming. It only takes one shot, and it's a good thing too. There's only one round in the gun, and even if there had been more, Kenny is no longer in a mood for revenge.

He wipes his eyes and gets to his feet. After all,  
he's got quite the mess to clean up.

-

Getting blood out of the wood floor is a nightmare, but it's not as much as the one he's currently living. At least the repetitive action keeps him distracted. He can't afford to feel right now, not when war has been so clearly declared. 

From his detached perspective, he can see that it was an incredible plan. Capitalise on his attachment, put him in a precarious position. He's not used to being at such a significant disadvantage. He knows he is lucky to have survived the altercation, let alone come out unscathed. 

As always, the Cleaner overcomes the odds. 

Once he's dealt with the evidence, he knows he has to deliver some kind of message. Sure, it'd be great to strike by flying under the radar, but his flair for the dramatic is one of his most notable qualities. He knows how to be unseen and silent, he just decides that he wants to be visible. He wants to be memorable. He doesn't want to be forgotten.

He drafts a letter.


	5. Do you feel like a Young God?

Kenny knows that there's a camera watching the doorstep, and it plays perfectly into his plan. 

If his assumptions are correct, Kota isn't used to calling the shots, not just yet at least. He does have experience, and that's something to be wary of, but he isn't used to getting his hands dirty. 

He may recoil at the opportunity to fight him face to face. It's a shame, he's curious of the skills he has learned along the way. 

It's imperative he doesn't underestimate Kota. The man is young, but he wouldn't have made it this far if he wasn't driven. The stronger mind, the one more open to the possibilities is the one who wins the game, he mustn't assume. Using all he's learned, he must anticipate his adaptation, capitalise on little mistakes whilst being sure he isn't leaping into a trap.

The man seems to have a penchant for revenge and a hot temper. He's prideful, bordering on arrogance, so getting him riled up won't be hard at all. It will be risky, but Kenny is used to that. He's already weighed his odds, and with a little bit of luck, things will work out in his favour. 

He knows it's key to keep his cool, if he wants to get Kota's head. He'll learn how he thinks. He'll get under his skin, get stuck in his head like a song on the radio. He's on the brink, the margins of error are so slim, and there's no second tries if he slips. 

He empties his mind of any theories, looking at what he knows for sure. He must analyse by working backwards. 

He meditates on what that pressure to succeed does to someone. The pressure of knowing what legacy you have to keep intact. He thinks of Kota like glass, and he is tracing his fingers across the pane in an attempt to find the hairline cracks on the surface. 

His mind happens upon a possibility. A god complex. Kota's father had often enforced the concept of destiny. If he utilises religious language, perhaps it will set off some kind of chain reaction.

He goes through draft after draft until his wastepaper basket overflows. It's alright. He has recently come into a new supply of ink.

He pulls on his gloves. He has a bandana obscuring the lower half of his face, his hood up, aviators on. All the pieces are in place.

He can't risk facial recognition picking him up, he just needs to get Kota's attention. Despite the unspoken rule that you never turn an enemy in if you yourself are an enemy of the law, he's not taking any chances. Not with a man as tricky and influential as Kota. 

He walks down the street, looking right up at the camera with a wave. He knows Kota will know. He slips the letter through, and before Kota can open the door, he's down the street and out of sight.

—

Kota rushes to the door as soon as he sees the Cleaner wave at the camera. He opens the door, cranes his head out to search for him, but he's already long gone.

The letter rests at his feet. 

He kneels to pick it up, and stifles a laugh when he sees the writing on the envelope. It's written in blood. Callis's blood. He doesn't know why he had been about to laugh. It's not funny in any way, shape, or form.

_Congratulations._

_It was a ingenious plan, I must say. Flawless execution, an elegant resolution._

_You must surely be proud of yourself, Ibushi._

_Pride will be the death of us all. Pride comes before destruction, before a fall into the endless abyss. When arrogance takes residence in your heart, when pride allows it to harden, you'll find that in this hubris comes a fall from grace._

_You forget, that I have being doing this far longer than you have. You're but a young star emerging into the cosmos when the red giant has seen millennia go by._

_Are you already feeling so lonely in the Kingdom I left for you? Have you grown so tired of ruling, of pulling strings? Have you already begun to seek such an unholy escape?_

_Say a prayer, Ibushi-san. Maybe the grace of whatever God exists may protect you from my wrath, from my blasphemy._

_Anger breeds only in the hearts of fools. Stay your hand, keep the course, and you shall succeed in your endeavours. He who is quick to anger reveres folly; a hot-tempered man stirs up strife, but he who is slow to anger quiets contention._

_And so, all this to say that I wish to extend an olive branch. Even if unwittingly, you have done me a great favour, exposing the treachery of my mentor._

_If you are ever in need of my services, please get in touch._

There's a number at the bottom, enough digits to be a phone number. 

The letter is cryptic, and in any other scenario could be misconstrued as advice. Kota won't take it as such. Why would the cleaner be giving him advice, especially after his actions? Did he really hold that plan in such high regard?

And what is this kingdom he speaks of? It makes no sense! He sighs with frustration as he reads it.

Despite his anger, he feels a great deal of respect for the Cleaner. It must take a lot of poise to be able to kill so ruthlessly, even when he cared for the person on the end of the bullet. 

Kota had greatly underestimated what this man is capable of, but he won't do it again.

He trains harder than he ever has in his life, he thinks of nothing else. It's his destiny, it's fate. He'll win this, whatever it takes.


	6. Nothing will change my spirit's place to roam

Once the letter was delivered, Kenny changed out of his Cleaner gear into something comfortable. He's got a lot on his mind, too much to ever process.

He doesn't think he can keep up the brave face right now, and reminds himself that's okay. He has a perfectly clear schedule. He's not missing anything, he is just taking the necessary time to process. 

He reminds himself that it's not something to fight. It's a human response, it's natural, it's a chemical reaction. It's out of his control, he's known Don for so long that of course he's going to feel like this. Of course, a little piece of him is too prideful too accept that, calls him weak for not resisting the tears that roll down his face. 

He curls on in himself, trying to block out the world. It was all too much to take, the walls were caving in while he was still trapped inside. He's crumbling, turning to rubble like a skyscraper in an earthquake.

The letter had been genuine advice. He remembered hearing a phrase, from some kids show. It had stuck with him, it echoes in his mind. 

Pride is not the opposite of shame, but it's source. 

That couldn't be any more true. Pride feels like a curse. He's constantly comparing himself to a distorted image, expecting the two to align perfectly. When they don't, he rips himself to shreds.

His lungs burn as he takes a gasping breath. He hadn't even realised he'd stopped taking them, but the way his body craves oxygen reveals that fact to him. 

The grief hits him like a 16-wheeler barrelling down a highway, and he is paralysed by the headlights, trapped by the beam of blinding white light.

The moment Don had cocked the hammer of the gun he had aimed at his back, he had been dead to Kenny. He didn't feel any guilt for killing him. It was life or death, and it didn't feel selfish to take from someone he'd given so much to. 

He'd given Don everything he could. Every crime he'd committed, everything he had ever done had all been to make him proud, to prove himself. He'd tried his best, he'd followed his advice, he'd worked himself down to the bone, just to see the smile in Don's eyes when he succeeded.

He'd fallen right into an obvious trap. 

Hindsight is everything, and now that the rose-tinted aviators have faded to grey, it's so blatant to him. To Don, he'd never meant anything at all. He was just another pet project, another investment. Nothing more. Not a surrogate son, not even a friend.

Just another business venture.

It physically hurts, and he does the only thing he knows will help. He calls the Bucks, telling them everything. They're on the other side of the country, they can't rush to comfort him, but he still pours his heart out to them both, sobbing down the line.

Matt tries his best to soothe him, but his best efforts aren't even making a dent in the problem. It's not enough and too much and everything at once, and his throat is so raw from the sobs that he feels like he's about to cough up blood. 

He runs out of words to express how he feels, and makes his excuses. Matt asks if he needs to get a flight, but Kenny insists that he's okay. Matt doesn't believe him, obviously, but he does respect Kenny's wishes, and that counts for something right now.

He lays his head down, trying to get some sleep. Dreaming of a kingdom, and a boy just out of his reach.

— 

Kenny was sat back in his chair, not doing much. It's a nice change from the usual, and that's enough for him. He's managing to ignore the anticipation, managing not to check his phone every five seconds, but he does keep staring at it, resting on the table. 

Then the phone finally, finally rings. 

He picks up, waiting for the other man to speak.

"How?" Kota's voice is filled with incredulity, and there only a brief pause before he repeats his question, in a tone that can only be described as a howl of frustration. "How?!"

Oh, this is far more entertaining than he had ever expected.

"I trust you received my letter?" There's a coy smirk in his voice, teetering on the edge of dark laughter. He's tempted to add a nickname from days past, rile him further. 

He knows, though, that an act such as that would be too bold, too recognisable. He knows nobody else ever called him that, Kenny had made him promise. He doesn't intend to reveal himself just yet, so he holds his tongue. 

Kota takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Yeah. I did." 

Kenny smiled. This was almost too easy, he expected it to be much harder to break his composure. He supposed that time must have changed them both more than he thought. 

"Excellent. To answer your question of how, I'll confess. It was luck." 

"Luck?"

"Mhm. The odds were 50/50, anything could have gone down."

"That's surprisingly... humble of you."

"Pride leads only to foolishness. It's crucial to keep a clear head."

"Why are you telling me this? What purpose does this serve?" 

"It's always good to have a working relationship with my clients." He shrugged.

"On that subject..." Kota smiles devilishly, but keeps his voice level. "I am in dire need of your services, but there is one complication."

"And that is?"

"I negotiate face to face."

Luckily Kenny had anticipated this fact. It seemed reasonable enough. He'll be armed to the teeth anyway.

"You're not the first to make that stipulation." He laughed softly. "The tough guy gambit doesn't suit you. Maybe try the cold and aloof persona, it seems far more fitting."

Kota ignores the flippant comment. "I'll send you a time and location. Be there."

"I wouldn't miss it."


	7. I’ll Love Every Version Of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the finale of Book One!
> 
> Edit : Fuck it, it’s all going in one book-

They meet at the agreed upon location, an empty and abandoned refinery. The places are never torn down.

Kota is beautiful, even now. He has a stare like dirty whispers and an aura of power, and it's like looking at a perfect stranger. Maybe if Kenny were a better man, he would reveal himself. They'd drop their acts and reminisce on days gone by, hands intertwined. Maybe they could be something again.

The reality is, Kenny isn't a better man. He's a mercenary. He does what he is paid to do. He sits down, playing along, like he doesn't know that he will be double crossed. He doesn't blame Kota, he knows that he would do the same. If anything he feels an odd flurry of pride. 

They stand there. Kenny purposely looks away for too long. He listens for the movement, focuses on the vibrations of the ground.

Predictably, Kota attacks him. 

He's ready, he's had enough time to brace for the impact of the strike. What he doesn't expect is his glasses to fly off and shatter.

Memories detonate in Kota's mind like flash-bangs, one after another. Each one is brightest as his strikes make contact.

He knows him.

He remembers it all. Only one thing escapes him in this moment. 

The man's name.

—

_Kota is running, as fast as his legs will carry him. His footfalls are heavy and clumsy, occasionally squashing a flower or two as he sprints through the field. The blue-eyed boy is catching up to him._

_He stands his ground, raising his cardboard shield to protect himself as the boy wildly swings the fake sword. He's yelling a fierce battle cry, but Kota isn't scared. It's not hard to dodge his chaotic motions._

_Since he's that little bit taller, he moves his shield at an angle, so that blue eyes bonks himself on the head with his own foam sword. He falls back onto his hands in a seated position. He pouts. Kota always wins._

_With a bright and slightly dorky grin, he looks up at him like he's all that matters. Kota secretly hopes blue-eyes will beat him one day._

_"Cmon Ibu-tan! That's not fair!" He complained. Kota laughs. Blue-eyes knows he won fair and square, but it's a little game they always play._

_Kota plonks down beside him and takes his hand. He's exhausted, and the heat of the sun is telling him to take a break. Blue-eyes rests his head on his shoulder._

_"We'll always love each other, won't we, Ibu-tan?"_

_"Forever and ever. Even when you bonk yourself in the face like an idiot." He promises, with a smile. Blue-eyes folds his arms and sulks, but can't stop himself from blushing when Kota leans to press a kiss on his cheek._

_"You mean it?" He mumbled, and Kota pulls him close._

_"Of course."_

_The years go by like a rushing river, blending into the ocean of memories they had collected over the years. They're 15 now, standing by a street fighter arcade cabinet._

_Blue-eyes' curls are longer now, and he's considering dyeing them. "You know there's no way you can beat me." Blue-eyes mumbles_

_"I've been practicing-" Kota said, a little indignantly, and Blue-eyes laughs softly as he puts the coin in the machine._

_As they play, their arms brush together, and he can feel Blue-eyes going red. A plan forms in his mind, and he steps the slightest bit closer to him. Their shoulders are touching, and Kota is resting his head on blue-eyes' shoulder when he sees it. The perfect opportunity._

_"Okay, now THAT is cheating!" He grins. He's always happy to lose to Kota._

_They leave the arcade, walking home together. Blue eyes glances up at him, and sighs._

_"I'm leaving." Blue eyes says. "Tonight. I'm moving to Tokyo."_

_His tone is matter-of-fact. A blank slate. He's pawing at the ground with his foot, kicking pebbles across the tarmac. Kenny had been off lately. Ignoring him, brushing all their plans. Now he knows why, and he's no clue what to say._

_"Well." He says, a little coldly. "You don't seem to mind that much."_

_He knows he's just upset, but it's still not a nice thing to say. It's downright hurtful, but Blue-eyes just smiles, and looks at him, his halo of curls as messy as ever._

_"There's no reason to be afraid. I know that you'll always wait for me." He cups Kota's cheek, looking at him with such love and longing. "Won't you, Ibu-tan?"_

_"Always." He promises. "I'll always wait for you."_

—-

He doesn't stop fighting, he knows he can't, but the strikes grow weaker as the realisation sets in. Kota is fast, and Kenny's blocks are growing sloppy and desperate. He can almost hear his frantic thoughts. Kenny always did get frantic when Kota was winning.

Kenny sees an opening, and tries to capitalise, but Kota sees the attack coming. Left foot back, right foot back, counter. 

He doesn't see the Cleaner when Kenny stumbles back, falling to the floor in a sitting position, propped up by his hands. He sees a boy with unruly curls and a crooked smile, holding tight onto the foam 'sword' he had painted for him.

He knows him. They know each other, in a way that's so deep and complex that words will never be enough to tell their tale.

Side by side, they had grown from small children to lanky teens, trading their cardboard kingdom adventures for arcade dates and hanging around the town. They had done everything together. They had loved each other.

The man in front of him is his best friend, his first love. It had been years since he had seen his face, but his eyes are unchanged. Still just as blue and opalescent, the flecks of iridescence catching the light and adding swirls of cerulean and cobalt. 

Something in his heart softens.

"Kenny?"

It's breathed out softly, little more than a whisper, and yet Kota feels like his soul is weaved into the word. 

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Ibu-tan?" Kenny says, laughing softly. There's an undercurrent of bitterness to the words.

He's using Kota's shock to buy himself some time. He's up on his feet in only a few moments. While Kota struggles to find words, he dusts himself off. 

Wiping the blood from his busted lip, he flashes that same crooked grin Kota remembers so vividly. All he can see is that boy he used to know, that same boy that he loved. The knife in his hand appears distorted, more like the foam sword he had once wielded.

"You always were better at duelling than me, weren't you?" He laughs bitterly once more. "But I've been training an awful lot since I left." Kenny continues, voice light, as if this was all effortless.

Kota's eyes are like saucers, and his blocks are less than optimal as Kenny beats him back. He manages not to end up on the wrong end of the blade though, so he's not out of the running just yet.

Kenny scores an unexpected knee strike, and Kota's head rocks back. With all the force behind it, there's no way he can withdraw, he can't pull back, he can only fall forward. Kota falls back onto his elbows, and as they both scramble to ready themselves, it's clear who has won the fight.

Kenny grins down at Kota, knelt in front of him. He tilts Kota's head up with the tip of the knife, gently enough that it doesn't quite break the skin. He wields the blade as if it were an extension of himself, and Kota can imagine, even just for a moment, that it's a finger tilting his head up to look at him. 

All he can see is a foam sword in Kenny's hand, he can feel it against his chin, as if the cold steel weren't truly there. He can hear the childish laughter ringing in his ears. 

Is this madness? Is this his life flashing before his eyes, in his final moments, before he lays dead at the hand of the one he loved the most? 

Their eyes finally meet. 

Kenny tenses with anticipation, his grip on the knife tightening, ready for the killing blow. Kota just watches, he knows when he's defeated. 

Something flickers in Kenny's eyes and he sighs. He looks down, curls spilling over his eyes, creating a barrier between himself and Kota. He's glad the man can't see the tears in his eyes. 

"Get up."

Kenny's voice is... gentle. Fragile. Kota doesn't know what to think or how to feel, it's all too complicated.

"What-" He breathes out, but Kenny interrupts.

"Get up before I change my mind." He snaps, dropping the knife and fleeing through the back door.

He gives chase. He's right behind him, he feels leather on his fingertips as he reaches out. He's got him!

His hand closes around nothing. Kenny looks back over his shoulder, but he doesn't stop running. His footsteps fade, and Kota slumps. He's weak, he's exhausted, he's had enough.

He walks home, up to his room. He still has the cardboard shield, clumsily painted. It's dented and on the edge of falling apart, but it's still there. Kenny is still there, his ghost still lives in these walls.

He closes the door behind himself, picking up the cardboard shield and hugging it tightly to his chest. He falls to his knees, breaking down into hopeless sobs. He hadn't even thought about Kenny in years, but he'd still haunted every waking moment of Kota's life ever since he'd left.

They'll always find each other, again and again, but they lose each other every time. How many more times can he fall in love with Kenny before he breaks beyond repair?

He doesn't know what the future holds, no one does, but he knows that whatever it is, they'll meet again soon.


	8. Disposable Entertainment

Kota Ibushi is lost.

He's staring up at the ceiling, his expression vacant. He doesn't know what else to do. He just feels so horribly, horribly empty. It plays over and over in his mind, the memory is perfectly clear. 

He still remembers the tortured look in those ocean deep eyes as Kenny had looked down at him. The picture is crisp and clear, not yet distorted by the hum of static or tainted by the rosy hue that every other memory of Kenny sported. 

It's been about a week, now. The bruises are fading, but the scars haven't healed. He doesn't think they ever will.

He lays on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering. Trying to find a reason, a purpose, something to believe in. He comes up blank. There's only one man he believes in, only one person he feels anything for.

Kenny.

Blue eyes haunt his dreams, following him everywhere, he can't escape their scrutiny. He can never be free of him, everything around him, everything that makes him what he is, it all just screams out Kenny's name, calls out for him as if it's his last breath.

He knows that if he wants this to end, he must be the one pull the trigger on it. He will never be able to rest, he will never be able to live his life, until he ends this for good. Neither of them will rest, neither of them will find peace. 

Time had shown that.

No one has ever survived the Cleaner before. That just proves that the parts of each other they had exchanged, the part of Kenny that Kota so treasured, is haunting Kenny.

They can't let go of each other, and it is tormenting them both. Kota can think of nothing else, he's not left his room in days, he can't even function.

They're cursed, cursed to orbit each other, never able to touch. Time brings them back together over and over again, but every time they're close enough to reach out, the tides pull them away. Their fates are entwined in a way he will never understand. 

This endless push and pull that moves alongside the ebb and flow of the years, it's exhausting, and Kota wants nothing more than for it to finally stop.

Would you love someone if it meant losing them over and over again? 

Kota wonders if Kenny really was his at all, wonders if they ever truly belonged to each other. How can they, when every little thing that happens is designed to tear them away from each other, over and over again.

He feels like Alice, chasing the white rabbit, always just a few steps behind. And as he falls into the rabbit hole, he's been running after him so long there's nobody left to catch him 

He throws himself into his work, trying desperately to fill the void that Kenny's absence has created. It's a void that he had barely noticed. Sure, he'd felt incomplete, and it hadn't been comfortable, but it had never felt like this. 

No matter how many times he skips sleep in favour of his work, he never gets even close to filling the void Kenny leaves. 

Now that he knows what feeling complete is like... he just feels hollow. Artificial.

Kenny had left him for so long he thought he would get over it, he'd fill the void with cotton and stuffing, stitch himself back together. His body rejects it. Any other kind of relationship felt wrong. Even friendships feel superficial and lifeless.

Kenny has disappeared on him so many times, enough that you would think he'd grow used to it. Every time is harrowing and brutal, and his heart and soul are ripped to shreds.

Kenny takes more and more of Kota's being every time he goes, and yet he leaves over and over without remorse, and every time Kota welcomes him back with open arms. There's nothing else he can do. They need each other. 

He's stopped bothering to tape himself back together when he gets ripped apart. There's no point, no temporary fix will ever close the wounds Kenny has left. Nothing Kota tries will ever fix it. 

He just carries on like nothing is wrong, like his soul isn't tattered and his heart isn't torn. He lives without purpose, just waiting for Kenny to touch his life once more, to bring that beautiful glow of golden.

He fools himself a little more as the days go by. Maybe he can learn to hate Kenny. Maybe then he can finally be free of this curse.

His parents know something is wrong. His father tries to talk to him. It's late, when he knocks on the door, and walks in. Kota is just holding the cardboard shield, staring at it.

"Son... are you alright?" His father asked, sitting just opposite him. "You've been very quiet. Even more than usual."

Kota sighs. How in the hell is he supposed to answer that? His hand ghosts over the large bruise on his cheekbone, and he slumped. He should just tell the truth.

"No. I'm not alright.

"What's wrong..? If you need medical attention-"

"I'm fine." He interrupted. 

"You were lucky to get away at all, Kota. You're the first person to ever live to tell the tale, there's no shame in needing help-"

"It's not that, dad. I wish it was that. This is... complicated at best." 

He motioned for Kota to continue.

"I had a plan. I knew it was risky, I had my affairs in order. I caught him off guard, I was so close, but-" He grips handfuls of his hair. shuts his eyes. "When I hit him, the sunglasses came off. I saw his eyes. I knew who he was the moment I saw them.... it was... Kenny. Blue eyes, curls... I knew it was him, knew for sure." 

His father's eyes widened. He hadn't noticed before, but now everything makes sense. Kota looks down at the cardboard shield in his lap. Tracing patterns across the painted surface with his fingertips.

"I never forgot him. I tried, but I never could let him go." He smiled fondly, a little broken smile. The kind where the tears start to fill your eyes.

"I was down, my ribs hurt so bad I could barely breathe... One slash is all it would have taken. But something, something in him..." he pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them tight. "He hesitated. He let me go. I tried to talk to him, I don't know to what end, but I tried. He fled, he left me all over again." The tears finally spill down his face. 

"I waited every day for him to come back. He let me live, and I've no idea why. Why did he run from me? He let me live and then he left me all over again." He let out a quiet sob, and the look in his eyes grew wistful.

"Maybe he knew that would hurt me more than death ever could. Maybe that's why."


	9. Standing in the Dark

Kenny ran.

He knows Kota is following him, and though he wants nothing more than to rush into his arms, he can't. He knows it. Kota deserves a normal life. A home, a family. 

Kenny can't give him that. 

He knows that Kota deserves better than whatever this life is, and he still has a chance to find that happiness. If making Kota happy means sacrificing his own happiness... Kenny would do it a thousand times over. 

He finally admits to himself that he never stopped loving Kota. He still hoped that Kota had waited. He still hopes that maybe he could fix what he's broken, the promise that he had shattered.

He realises with a start that it's unlikely Kota ever waited for him anyway. He's probably got a nice fiancé or something, he's probably got his future all planned out, and Kenny just I it.

Kenny's not sure if he wants to know whether it's true. Right now, it's easier to pretend they never knew each other. That all of this isn't even happening. It's easier to stay in denial.

His feet keep moving, as he navigates the alleys. His lungs burn, he tries to keep breathing, hoping it'll quell the aching in his legs. He keeps running and running, sprinting until his knees finally give out. He falls mid-stride, and he falls hard. The rough tarmac shreds the skin of his hands as he skids to a stop in the alleyway. He gasps for breath, lungs burning, as he lays there on the wet tarmac.

It's raining heavily, and Kenny is right in the centre of a forming puddle. It's not like there is a great deal he can do about it. He can't move, his legs are shaking uncontrollably, not showing any sign of stopping, and his arms are too weak to hold up his upper body.

The rain drenches him as he manages to crawl, dragging his noncompliant body until he's able to find some shelter in a neighbouring alley. It's too little too late, he's already soaked and shivering as he checks himself over.

The skin of his hands was completely shredded by the fall, and vermillion is dripping down his wrists. It burns like hell, the small pieces of gravel in the wound worsening the pain. The cold rain soothes his hands, washing away then  
blood and gravel.

By some miracle, nothing is broken. Nothing feels broken, at least. Only bruised, and he may have sprained his ankle, but it's not anything that warrants a hospital visit. 

Though Kenny was now the better of the two of them, Kota was still quite the fighter. Fierce and bold, when he allowed himself to be. He always had been that way, even when they played pretend all those tears ago. 

He's shaking all over, but whether it's from the cold or the emotion, he's unsure. He's unsure of everything right now. 

Kenny finds the relentless downpour to be gentle. Almost comforting. He closes his eyes, rests his head against the wall of the alley. He lets it wash away the pain, it feels like the sound of his voice. He smiles peacefully.

His heart is beating so fast that he almost feels alive again. He's not, there's a void in his chest. No matter how he tries to fill it with poison and blood and violence, he never feels whole, he always feels like something is missing. He's learned how to get by, to find solace in the little reminders of his love. He can live like this, if it means Kota can be happy.

He knows he'll never be able to have him. Not without dragging him down, and so, he allows himself to bask in this shallow comfort for just a little longer.

He knows he has to go. He'll freeze out here, and he has injuries to care for. He slowly gets to his feet, managing to take a few staggering steps. His hands are still bleeding and abraded, but he knows there's a first aid kit back at the refinery. He just hopes Kota didn't go back there to wait for him.

The clouds turn from dove grey to the green of sea glass and the storm only worsens as he stumbled down the street, trying desperately to ignore the flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder. He's never liked storms. They always made him feel uneasy.

He sees the fading sunrise over the horizon and something about it reminds him of home, of Kota.

He falls to his knees.

—

At first, Kota had hated the thought. 

But the more he thinks about it, the more he knows that he must end this, for both their sake. That's why he takes the offer. He knows that neither of them will ever move on, not unless the barrier of death separates them. He must do what is necessary, it's always been his destiny,

Even with his feeble justification, he feels uncertain.

The negotiation is simple, and it'll be a massive breakthrough for the company if it goes through. All Kota has to do is uphold his end of the bargain.

His father had looked at him with worry, but Kota assured him that he would be alright. It had just caught him off guard, and this time he was prepared. The pieces were in place.

He may not be particularly familiar with the Cleaner, but he knows Kenny like he knows himself. He knows the places he used to hang around, he knows the alleyways. It's not hard to corner him.

Even when Kota has him pinned, he doesn't engage, only flees. 

Kota pursues.


	10. I will not forget the promise that I made with you

Kenny loses him pretty easily. He knows the streets better than he knows himself, he knows how to disappear in the crowds.

He walks home. He's still healing, he's not ready for this, he just wants to rest. His body feels heavy as he drags himself up the stairs in the apartment building. He sits in his study, in the dark, rocking the office chair from side to side, pushing it with his foot. 

He hears the door click open, he hears the creeping footsteps. He knows Kota isn't stupid, he expected this.

"I know you're there." He says, softly, to the emptiness. He doesn't expect Kota to snap back.

"Then face me." 

He shakes his head. The last thing he wants to do is face Kota. He doesn't think he can keep pushing him away if he does.

It's a total role reversal. This time, Kota is the one lashing out in anger, Kenny is the one taking everything he gives without ever fighting back. It feels wrong, out of character, warped and distorted. 

Kenny catches his wrist as he attempted to strike. He lets it go, keeps stepping back and avoiding confrontation. Kota attempts to shove him. Kenny moves to the side, a smooth, calculated motion. 

"I know you hate me, so fight me!" He demands, throwing a punch that Kenny deflects with relative ease. He doesn't say a word. 

Kota throws himself into the fight, and Kenny hates it. He tries his absolute best not to harm him, but to defend himself he must redirect the force of the fight to his opponent. Kota is strong, probably stronger than he is, and right now he's fighting to finish him. The energy of the deflected strikes has to go somewhere, and unfortunately it takes its toll on Kota's body. 

Kota isn't even close to ready to be back in the field yet, emotionally nor physically, and Kenny ends up doing far more damage than he initially intended.

He eventually succeeds in restraining his adversary. His knee is pinning down the lower of Kota's back, his left forearm rests across his shoulder blades, keeping Kota’s upper body pressed to the floor. Kenny ensures his right hand is free. 

Kota is trapped. There's no point in struggling. Yet again, tears fill his eyes as he braces for nothing. Again, he expects to die here, at Kenny's mercy, but all the anticipation melts away at the last second.

Rather than harming him, Kenny gently hushes him, running his fingers through his hair. Kota whimpers. He doesn't understand, why is Kenny being so kind to him?

Tears pouring down his face, he forces out a question.

"You hate me... why are you doing this...?" 

"I don't hate you." Kenny says softly, finally letting up the pressure. "I never hated you." He guides Kota into a seated position.

"But you don't remember." Kota looks at the floor. If Kenny cared about him, he would remember. 

His every motion is tender as he takes care of a gash on Kota's cheek. If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine that he's tenderly cupping his face as he speaks. "I never forgot you, how could I?"

"Our promise." He clarified. "You don't remember our promise, do you?" 

—-

"You'll come home though, won't you?"

"As soon as I'm of age." He says. "I swear it. And I know it's selfish of me to ask, but... please wait for me, Ibu-tan."

"I'll wait forever, if that's what it takes. I promise you, nobody will ever know me the way you do."

"I love you. I promise I'll come home."

—

Kenny nods gently, handing him an instant ice pack from the first aid kit. "I'll never forget it... and I'm sorry that we broke it." 

"I never broke it." Kota said, gently. "I kept it." 

"After all these years?" He said, in awe. The moment feels gentle. Intimate. Kota leans into his touch as he cleans up a cut he'd obtained in the scuffle. Just being close to Kenny again, it's like sunbeams on his skin after living his life in the dark. He can’t fight it any longer.

"Always." He said, with no hesitation. "I said I'd wait forever, and I meant it. I never loved anything while you were gone."

"Kota..." Kenny whispers, resting his forehead against Kota's. As he forms the word, their lips are millimetres apart. Tears spill down Kota's cheeks.

"I was so alone. I was just waiting for you... but you were here this whole time!" His chest is wracked by the sobs. He wants to hate Kenny for breaking the promise, but there is only love in his heart for the man.

"I didn't want you to see what I became, Kota." Kenny said, voice heavy with guilt

"Why? I loved you..."

"I'm very different to the boy you remember. I'm too involved in all this... you can still have a normal life, you deserve to be happy."

"I don't care if I deserve a normal life!" Kota snapped. "I wanted you, that's all I ever wanted! I loved you." 

Kenny looked at him, meeting his eyes. Kota quickly broke the eye contact.

"I still do." He says, gently.

"Then stay." He says. "If you.. if you really want me... then I want you to stay."

Kota's arms wrap around him, and he returns the favour, holding him so close it feels impossible. He never wants to let go, he wants to feel him here forever, just this embrace.

"Maybe... maybe we can have a normal life. You and I. Maybe... maybe we can run away, find somewhere safe. Just you and I, forever and always-“

Kota leant in and kissed him gently, moving his lips against his. It’s like sparks igniting, it feels so good. Kenny melts into it, kissing back. 

It feels like home.


End file.
